


The gift

by millain123



Series: Gifts of people who really aren't stable [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Bruce Has Issues, M/M, Mentioned Jerome Valeska, Mentioned Jim Gordon, Past Character Death, Post-Episode: s05e07 Ace Chemicals, Post-Laughing Toxin Jeremiah Valeska, Soft Jeremiah Valeska
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millain123/pseuds/millain123
Summary: Jeremiah might be in Arkham but that doesn't mean he wouldn't stop giving bruce gifts.Set in which Bruce pulled Jeremiah back from the ledge at Ace Chemicals and they have an interesting relationship.
Relationships: Jeremiah Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Series: Gifts of people who really aren't stable [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994215
Comments: 3
Kudos: 41





	The gift

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so this is my first time writing for these 2 so be kind ;p

Jeremiah was like a cat, Bruce had surmised before picking up the box on his porch. Always leaving dead things on his porch.

It was a pretty box, Bright stripes, and dots tattooed on the skin covering it (he was wearing gloves). A bow and card in red ink detailing a warning that might have been something to fret over 3 years ago.

They weren’t the same people they were 3 years ago either. Now he stood a little bit taller, the need to shave happening more (not as often as he would have liked) and smiles coming a bit easier.

Bruce was still a serious boy, usually dressed in all black and a frown naturally taking over his face but now his eyes lit up more often and he seemed more relaxed. Jeremiah liked to think that he was responsible for that.

He opened the box once he got inside, Alfred sighing about teenagers and clowns. Inside was a red rose, the thorns dipped in what Bruce knew wasn’t strawberry jelly. The blue latex of his glove turned slightly purple with the blood. It was a nice gift, considering the last one was a severed ring finger with the ring still on it (not a proposal, they had both made it clear that they weren't ready). But Bruce was getting tired of burning skin boxes. Alfred was too judging by the look he was giving the 19-year-old.

Bruce hardly noticed, instead choosing to put the rose in a vase. The blood washed away, the clarity of the water showing slightly pink. The petals would wilt in a week unless this was one of Ivy’s little monsters (Bruce doubted it seeing as the girl wasn't in Arkham and never really liked Jerimiah). Turning back around to his Butler watching the slightly disapproving look on his face  
“You're not going to stop me."

“I’m not planning on it. I’m just worried about you Master Wayne,”

Ever since Bruce had pulled Jeremiah back from the guardrail at Ace Chemicals and the clown had gone to Arkham; the gifts were a constant. They started small of course, a box of chocolates that had been thrown away as soon as they had arrived. Bruce had always wondered what was in those.

The first independent visit to Arkham had been filled with creepy, inherently wide-eyed glances through panes of glass. It had gotten easier after that though

"I know Alfred but I’m seriously ok. If anything goes wrong I can defend myself remember?” Another way these three years had paid off. He could fight, and now he could fight well  
.

Alfred merely sighed and stepped away from the threshold, Bruce deciding against wearing the heavy black jacket he seldom left the house without. He would have felt bare without it, like a naked babe in the woods, waiting for wolves to pounce had it not been for the plastic knife in his shoe and the iron chain in his pocket. Once placed on the magnets in his rings (gifts from Mr. Fox) they made surprisingly efficient iron knuckles.

He had also taken his phone with him, screen cracked from a run on with a mugger yesterday. She had been easy to take down but he needed to get that fixed

Leaving Wayne manor he looked up, the walls casting shadows along the grounds. The architecture hadn’t changed nor would it ever but it was home. A home plagued by tragedy upon tragedy but it hurt less now, now that Bruce had some people that he knew loved him. But it was still an imposing building, winding stairs and old wallpaper that even if Bruce died, would never change.

The back car, something expensive that would easily identify him waited in the driveway  
The humming of an engine and soft music were the only things Bruce could hear as he drove to Arkham. A home away from home, not that he’d ever admit it. Despite hating the treatment of inmates (he took them to court a year back and thighs have gotten better) and many people in there wanting his blood, it still held a sense of comfort  
.

Maybe he was crazy. Wouldn’t Jerimiah love to hear that.

Pulling up the asylum was the easy part, convincing himself to go in was harder. It had gotten easier over time, but he still felt the stab of guilt for all the people that he had let die by the inmates’ hands.

No bruce, you can’t save everyone! A voice that sounded suspiciously like Jeremiah reminded him. It was hard… he was getting used to it.

Walking through the front doors, he greeted the security guard with a head nod. They stiffened up, likely one of the people under Jerimiahs control. As much as Jeremiah hated to be similar to Jerome, there was no denying that they both were very good at getting people to follow them.

He lifted his eyes to one of the workers, seeing Echo’s stare back. She’d been working there for a while under some different name every time. Cold, calculating eyes and a fake warm smile filled her face.

“Hello Doctor Klovn, how are you today?” False pleasantries though they enjoyed each other's company were exchanged and a meeting with Jerimiah was arranged.

“Mr. Valeska will see you in meeting Room 3,” She spoke as if Bruce was then only about to be shoved in a room, chains around his wrists. She thanked him, walking down the hallways, noting the lack of silence. It was another thing Bruce (though he could convince himself that he didn’t) liked about the place. There was no silence, whether it be music that seemed oddly fitting for the old Asylum or screams (he preferred the music) of the less collected inmates.

The hallway was familiar, the same room that he had (for the first time without Ecco) seen Jerimiah in. Though it was easy to get turned around in here, walls looking the same, with the seldom decor to grace its walls. Something Bruce would try to work on. Though as many people had told him, he was not an interior decorator, the latest being Jerome.  
Jerome was dead, it was no question about it. After the fateful day at the graveyard; Bruce never went a week without checking on the grave, making sure that ginger-haired clown didn’t wake. Some might call it paranoia but anyone who had known Jerome knew that it was a precaution they needed to take. Bruce still had the faint white line on his neck and a few scars from when he had to dive staples out of his arm.

Jeremiah hated that, likely not for the reasons a sane person would. Maybe something about not being the first one to give him such scars or the fact that Jerome was gone, the marks he left on Bruce weren’t. Being an only child and (maybe?) not crazy Bruce never got it.

Entering the visitation room, with its white walls and silver table, Bruce took notice of the security cameras. It was a habit he had never known was one until Jeremiah pointed it out, saying something about looking for people who he didn’t know if they were there. Then he had said something about never having to worry about the camera’s being on him when he was talking with Jeremiah.

He kept true to that promise, the camera’s green light flickering off. Another constant since the beginning of these visits. No surveillance made Bruce feel free, most of his life being surrounded by flashing lights and Paprizza hounds. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair across from the door that the gift-giver would be walking through.

Drumming his fingers on the metal, the almost silence becoming a little too much for him, he reminisced about the fateful day when they had figured out what this was

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Y’know Bruce it is rather rude to lie… especially to me,” It was the 8th or 10th visits (numbers always varied when it came to Jeremiah) and they had finally ditched the glass between them.

“I’m not lying Jeremiah I’m just distracted,” Gordon had made an unusual comment about moving Jeremiah offshore, away from Gotham and away from Bruce. It had sent a sickly feeling to bruce’s stomach. He wasn't sure why then.

“And what’s distracting you? He couldn’t lie, Jeremiah knowing more of his tells than he’d like.

“Something Jim said just made me think” It did make him think. Think about the sickly feeling and what caused it. Luckily the drive had helped him figure it out.

“You know I like it when tell me what’s on your mind Bruce,” Bruce had sighed, not really sure how to word it

“They were thinking of moving you offshore… I don’t agree,”

“And why is that Bruce?” A smile had made its way into Jeremiah's face, adoring and hopeful. This time Bruce knew what it was for. And he wasn’t sure if he’d like to go back to ignorance or confess to his crimes

“I would miss you,” Bruce confessed, not seeing Jeremiah's smile widen. If he had looked up he would have seen the (slightly mad but) Loving Away Jeremiah's eyes spoke. He would have seen the hands reaching for his.

He didn’t, only noticing those pale hands when they pulled his own up to Jeremiah's chest.

“You can feel that Bruce right? You know I would miss you too.” Bruce could indeed feel the frantic pounding of Jeremiah’s heart, the part of his mind he longed to destroy revealing in the notion that Bruce had some power in this dynamic.

“I know you would...Miah,” the nickname came out smoothly, a jump in Jeremiah’s heart to prove that it had worked.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The opening of the door broke Bruce’s memory, Dark eyes meeting stark green ones.

“How lovely it is to see you, Bruce,” Jeremiah’s tone was soft but happy, almost ignoring the guard that had walked him in.

Bruce simply nodded, not sure what the guard would think. It was foolish in Jeremiah's opinion and a little bit offending that Bruce didn’t think that Jeremiah would let someone not under his control walk him.

“Thank you Mr.Summer but you can leave now,” There it was again, the feeling that Jeremiah was the one in control, not the people who put him in these chains. Bruce watched the guard walk stiffly out the door, and Jeremiah sighed.

“I’m guessing he wasn’t very fun to work with,” Bruce said with no small amount of humor in his voice. Jeremiah peered into his eyes, watching them flicker to life with emotion. The clown always liked when Bruce allowed himself to show that fire, a little voice that still sounded like his brother saying that Jerome was the one who put it there. Jeremiah promptly ignored it.

“He was too easy. All I had to do was tell him how much better life would be if he just followed me and boom! He’s like a sick puppy,” Bruce noted to the obvious line with a sigh, as he had already seen the slight terror on his face when Jeremiah had spoken to them.

“And what kind of boom are we talking about, Miah?” Jeremiah laughed, a cold sound that only Bruce could recognize as genuine. Bruce was straight, of course, I mean what’s a little manipulation with threats. An invisible bomb in his mother's room or a promise of pain if Mr. Summer ever betrayed him.

“I’m guessing you got my gift,” Jeremiah was smiling, knowingly as Bruce bristled. The small part of him that recognized Jeremiah for the mad man that he was really didn’t like the way that Jeremiah looked at him.

“Yes, the skin made it feel especially romantic,” Bruce replied with false anger, the glare all but disappearing seeing the adoring way Jeremiah looked at him. Handcuff shined brightly as he reached up, cold hands taking Bruce’s in a tight grip. Bruce rubbed Jeremiah’s thumb with his own, a feudal attempt to warn them up. It was pleasant Jeremiah thought, the way Bruce openly expressed affection. It was a stark reminder of what they were three years ago when the only way Bruce would touch him was in anger,

“Only a rose, seldom as beautiful and half as deadly as you could prove as a gift to you,” it was poetic, in the way Edgar Allen Poe was, like a clown’s greasepaint, beautiful but slightly off. Something that would haunt a small child’s dreams and nightmare.

“You’re insane Jeremiah,” Bruce said with as much of a loving smile as someone like Bruce Wayne could make.

It was debatable, the insane nature of Jeremiah Valeska. The gas laid as a trapped by Jerome, or the almost offensive love he held for Bruce. Of course, Jeremiah would never call himself crazy as it was easy (far too easy) to convince himself that he was sane. That he was doing all of this for one purpose. One man.

“If I’m insane then you are just as crazy as I am,” Both of them noted the familiar words said by the other Valeska. They ignored it, Bruce because he seldom tried to think about the dead man and Jeremiah out of pure spite.

“How is Arkham treating you?” Changing the subject was something that BRuce was good at. Though it was questioned Bruce had asked every single visit. ALways said with the same amount of faked aloofness.

“I’ll be out soon,” A different answer surprised Bruce. He’d be getting out. It wasn’t surprising that we would. No, but it was surprising that he planned to.

Jeremiah, over the course of three years, had only escaped twice. But the general public only knew about the second one. The first, almost 27 months ago. A Private visit (kidnapping Bruce corrected) in an old church.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They had just had the fateful 8th or 10th visitor and Jeremiah wanted answers. He had got them anyway. And bruce had gotten answers to his own questions

“Why would you miss me, Bruce?” A question that maybe Bruce had the right answer for.

An answer that would mean that Jeremiah was right. That they did have a connection.

“Because… you were my…” Bruce had tired of not wanting to say the words he hadn’t even admitted to himself.

“I was your what?”

“You were someone I loved,” And there it was. Shocking the person who said it and the person who heard it. Loved. Past tense of course, as Bruce wasn’t able to admit that maybe the love wasn’t all gone yet.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Back to causing trouble?” Bruce said only slightly exasperated.

“Only for you my dear, always for you,” Another smile that three years ago Bruce would’ve flinched at. Now he met it with a smile of his own.

“I know Jeremiah, I know,”

And Bruce did know, having finally seen it after all of this time. They were all different people, but the most being Gotham’s Dark Knight. Jeremiah’s Prince.

**Author's Note:**

> Should I write about that kidnapping????


End file.
